Claude Frollo paced the main hall of the Palais de Justice impatiently. He was late; he'd never been late before. He could not leave, not yet. All he could do was wait; it was the only way to pass through unnoticed.

Suddenly, the bells began to toll, summoning those of faith to evening mass. Frollo covered the basket with a gray checked cloth, then hid it within the folds of his black robe. With an air of proud dignity he passed through the wrought iron gates of the Palais de Justice, where he was flanked by two of his guards.

As the bells tolled, he noticed through the murmuring of the passing crowd, he was not the only one aware that something was awry. The bells were late. While the pealing was proper, it was plain and unadorned. It was also a shade slower.

"The bells ring early tonight" muttered an old man

"You old fool! They're late! You've had to much wine and overslept. Get up!" This must have been the old man's wife. Indeed she was, she beat him backside of the head with a wooden spoon. Claude walked on.

Passing through the narrow streets, the chattering continued. Walking past a brave group of students, Claude listened intently, whilst keeping his eyes focused above the populace.

"Pierre, I believe even you could carry a tune better than that poor monk"

" Do you know nothing? 'Tis no monk, 'tis Quasimodo"

"Devil of a man, 'e is."

Claude Frollo felt the burning stare of a student lay upon him

"The devil is his Master, Jehan. "

Many, 'tis true, remained silent as they went about their business. Loose tongues usually became still as the dark robed figure passed through them, resuming their movements once out of immediate earshot. There was no telling of what stories had spread about him and his ward.

Claude remained stone faced as he made his way through the maze of people, horses and dogs. Anger burned within him. How dare he make himself known to the people. They knew. They all knew. Not one of them was blind to Claudes' little secret. Frollo clenched his fists tightly beneath his robes. He would pay for this insolence.

Entering the town square, Notre Dame, in all her majesty, stood before him. Most of the people had already entered the cathedral, only a few remained outside the large wooden doors. Among them was a young mother and her daughter at the foot of the steps. The little girl was playing with a small piece of wood, laughing and smiling. A piece of wood? No. It was another of those blasted figures.

Slipping into the Cathedral, Claude drew the basket from under his cloak and set it at the foot of the stairs. There would be none of that tonight. There was a lot of explaining to do.